Revelations
by EmpressoftheLoneIsles
Summary: One should always go to the source. Flashbacks are written in italics. Everyone always suspected that the relationship between Arthur's two Scouts Tristan and Percivale was more than just business...However the assumptions and the reality of their interaction were two completely different truths. *I HATE SUMMARIES!
1. Chapter 1

Revelations

**Characters**: Tristan, Percivale (alluded to) and Arthur

**Summary**: One should always go to the source. (Flashbacks are written in _italics_.) Everyone always suspected that the relationship between Arthur's two Scouts was more than just business. They assumed it was a relationship of love and that the grief that Tristan was now drowning in was the anguish of a lost lover. And those are the false facts that have been spread creating deeper wounds of a loss much deeper than ever imagined.

**Rating**: A whole **lot** of angst going on, but nothing I wouldn't let my mother read.

**Fic Prompt:** '_A Howling Wilderness/The Death of Jane Seymour_' by Trevor Morris, The Tudors Soundtrack

**Disclaimer**: They don't belong to me **BUT** they do belong to this Jerry B guy. I don't make a dime. But I do allow them to play in several of my different AU's and Feng Shui or destroy them from time to time. Percivale (this rendition and I like spelling his name that way) is my creation unfortunately I don't make a dime off him either and the same goes for Shayla, Tristan's girlfriend as well. LOL! But I must admit Simon Baker is my muse for Percivale.

* * *

"Why did you leave me here are all alone? It was I _not_ you who was destined to die here. Now that you are gone what will I do? What _will_ I do? I promised I would always be here and that I would protect you not that you needed it, yet all I _ever_ asked of you was _not_ to leave…" Tristan said softly.

This is the place he'd found himself rooted to for nearly the last two weeks. Repeating this same litany to the silent earth, a flickering flame and a beautifully ornate sword plunged deep into the earth.

Gravestones don't speak.

But this once he wished he could get the answer to his question that he had been posing to this final resting place as well as repeating it over and over in his head on an endless loop. Then Tristan recalled a conversation from the not so distant past. How Tristan would have given _anything_ to have another 'senseless' exchange such as this one:

"_Tristan, why don't you laugh anymore?"_

"_I leave that task up to you Percivale; you seem to enjoy it immensely." Tristan said as he started fletching an arrow he'd just made._

"_And when did you become so stubborn?" Percivale asked sarcastically as he flopped down on his own bed._

"_I'm **not** stubborn I'm willful."_

"_Willfully malicious." Percivale said not so quietly under his breath._

"_Then you know who the better man is," Tristan said as he leaned forward and ruffled Percivale's blond curly hair with a rather large smirk on his face, "and it just warms my little black heart."_

Placing his hands on his face Tristan let out a long sigh, just hoping all this was a dream and a horrifically bad one that he would soon wake up to see that gentle smile and hear that infectious laugh.

But all he could hear was silence.

Never in all his life had silence been so deafening; yet now that was all there ever was any and everywhere that he went.

The sound of his hawk as it situated its feathers while it perched atop the grave marker brought Tristan out of his thoughts. Tristan held out his hand and the bird cautiously stepped onto the back of his hand. He stroked the bird's feathers for a few moments as he continued to think. The other Knights often wondered why he seemed to care for it more than other people and the answer was simple because _you_ gave it to me a _long_ time ago. Then with a sharp twist of the head the bird spread its wings and sought refuge in a nearby tree. The more he stared at the grave, the more surreal this all seemed coupled with the fact that he was unwell himself it seemed as if things _couldn't_ get any _worse_.

_Wait!_

Tristan's eyes caught a glimpse of someone coming near him. Cocking his head slightly to get a better view he could see someone was indeed coming his way, it was Galahad.

'_No, no, no please not today and not this!'_ Tristan thought as he watched the young man with his quick step getting closer and closer to him.

_It happened before he could truly make sense of what was going on. Most of the enemies were dead or had retreated for their own good. Tristan knelt down for only a second to pick up one of his knives as he listened to Percivale's ever smiling voice as he began to make his plans for the evening. _

"_We deserve a feast fit for a King because of our victory today. And the first thing I shall do-" Percivale stopped suddenly._

_Folding his arms as he stood back up Tristan continued to listen to Percivale go on and on._

_Percivale's sword slipped from his hand to the ground._

_Almost in shock Percivale looked down and began to bring his hands up._

_Percivale's hands were **covered** with blood._

_Tristan saw the armor-piercing arrow protruding from Percivale's middle; and Percivale dropped forward falling into Tristan as the knives he was holding fell from his hand. This caused Tristan to take a step backwards to keep them **both** from falling to the ground._

_At the same moment someone yelled from the far end of the battlefield._

_When Percivale fell against him Tristan could see the sharp notches down the **entire** length of the arrow._

_This **wasn't** good._

_Percivale almost seemed to go limp instantly as Tristan eased him to the ground._

"_**Dag**!" Tristan yelled as he looked around._

"_What happened?" Dagonet said as he ran up to them._

"_I don't know where it came from but you **can't** let him die." Tristan said as he began to stand as he ran one of his blood covered hands over the concealed daggers in his breastplate as his eyes quickly scanned the battlefield._

_But before he could completely get back to his feet Percivale grabbed his hand, "Don't go."_

_Kneeling back down next to him he squeezed Percivale's hand firmly, "Then you **can't** leave me."_

_Dagonet caught Tristan's attention and shook his head slowly at him; the arrow while still whole for the most part had broken and splintered after going through Percivale's armor. Tristan felt Percivale choking back coughs which made him look down at him. _

"_Tristan-I can't feel-my legs..."_

_Coming more onto his knees Tristan brought his arm around Percivale to steady him as Dagonet looked at the arrow but this wasn't a situation that one could be optimistic._

"_...why can I not-feel my legs Tristan?"_

_Tristan cut off Percivale by saying close to his ear, "Sssh you are going to be **fine**; if Dag could keep me alive all this time **you** are going to be **alright."**_

_Dagonet wasn't having a whole lot of luck either because each time he attempted to remove it large pieces fractured and broke off into his hand._

"_No, no-I'm not." Percivale said his words catching in his throat._

"_Don't talk back to me." Tristan said._

_Dagonet looked up at the tone of Tristan's voice when he spoke to Percivale it was somehow, **different**. Placing his hand on the wound Dagonet began to press on it firmly; it wasn't going to save Percivale but at least it would keep him from bleeding out so quickly._

"_I'm-cold."_

Tristan felt his stomach flip as he was in no mood, neither physical nor mental to deal with Galahad right now. At the same time he was hit with a wave of nausea so violent he actually had to steel himself against it.

"I'm worried about you; I mean really, _really_ worried everyone is-but I know something isn't right." Galahad said as he sat down next to Tristan on the ground.

When Tristan looked over at the younger man's face it was absent of the usual grin and annoying, _persistent_ jolliness that he carried in his actions and when he spoke. Shaking his head in the negative Tristan looked away from Galahad.

"I know you don't like me-" Galahad began with a sigh.

"Actually I loathe you but, today I am finding you strangely tolerable." Tristan said as he looked back at Galahad.

Galahad smiled the biggest grin and playfully punched Tristan on the arm.

Tristan was sure Galahad was going to burst since this was one of the few kind things he had said to him-ever!

Punching him in the arm once again Galahad was going to quickly become his intolerable self until Tristan said in his normal tone, "Don't _do_ that."

Instantaneously Galahad swallowed down his playful expression and quickly replaced it a more sullen one.

"As I was saying, I know you don't like me…" he began.

Every time Tristan heard _that_ part of the sentence his stomach actually settled slightly.

"…but I'm a very good listener just ask Gawain." Galahad laughed gently as he stood up.

There was actually something Tristan did want to know; it needled him from day one about Galahad.

Looking up at him Tristan asked, "Then _why_ so _much_ chatter?"

"I guess I'm not as comfortable with silence as you are." Galahad shrugged and began to walk away then he paused.

"And I know you really do like me Tristan." Galahad said.

Tristan looked up, giving Galahad a stare so cold that hopefully would scare him off so he wouldn't elaborate.

Walking back over to where he was sitting Galahad took a deep breath hoping it wouldn't be his last and said, "You go out of your way to be mean to me-the same way you did with him."

Galahad gestured to Percivale's grave; then walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Revelations

**Characters**: Tristan, Percivale (alluded to) and Arthur

**Summary**: One should always go to the source. (Flashbacks are written in _italics_.) Everyone always suspected that the relationship between Arthur's two Scouts was more than just business. They assumed it was a relationship of love and that the grief that Tristan was now drowning in was the anguish of a lost lover. And those are the false facts that have been spread creating deeper wounds of a loss much deeper than ever imagined.

**Rating**: A whole **lot** of angst going on, but nothing I wouldn't let my mother read.

**Fic Prompt:** '_A Howling Wilderness/The Death of Jane Seymour_' by Trevor Morris, The Tudors Soundtrack

**Disclaimer**: They don't belong to me **BUT** they do belong to this Jerry B guy. I don't make a dime. But I do allow them to play in several of my different AU's and Feng Shui or destroy them from time to time. Percivale (this rendition and I like spelling his name that way) is my creation unfortunately I don't make a dime off him either and the same goes for Shayla, Tristan's girlfriend as well. LOL! But I must admit Simon Baker is my muse for Percivale.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?"

Arthur looked up from the scrolls he'd been reviewing on his desk. Despite himself he jumped from surprise at Tristan's sudden appearance even though he had sent for him.

"Yes, _please_ have a seat." Arthur said as he gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Tristan didn't like the way this was beginning usually when Arthur asked him to have a seat something dire had happened or he was going to pull him from his scouting duty to train someone. That was something he could not do; not now. What Tristan needed most was to put as many miles between himself and Hadrian's Wall as humanly possible for the time being so he could heal privately and in peace.

Sitting down slowly Tristan placed his hand to his forehead as he cast his eyes downward, Arthur felt this was strange. For Tristan not to intimidate someone with his unrelenting cold stare was just _not_ normal; and just more cause for Arthur's unease.

"Tristan I am concerned about you." Arthur said.

He could see the Scouts long lashes as he blinked slowly as he continued to stare at the floor then he said almost inaudibly, "Don't be."

"Well from what I have heard you have not been well lately. It seems everything you put in doesn't stay down. And you always seem to be _somewhere_, _regardless_ of the time of day or night." Arthur continued.

Arthur was right in his assumption the only thing he didn't know about was the constant pounding headache that Tristan had acquired, that seemed to be robbing him of sleep. Once the pain in his head started there was absolutely nothing that seemed to quiet it. But no one knew about that and he was determined to keep it that way, the last thing he needed were more people stifling him _especially_ now.

"I know you are upset about Percivale, I saw you at his grave the other day." Arthur said.

At the mention of Percivale's name was the first time that Tristan had given Arthur anything remotely close to eye contact; then his gaze quickly returned to the floor, "I'm always there."

"But when it is playing to the detriment of your health I must draw the line for your own good."

Tristan raised his eyes to Arthur's face, and he said coldly, "Are you _forbidding_ me from going to Percivale's grave?"

Arthur sat back in his chair as he became slightly uncomfortable with the tone of Tristan's voice and his usual non blinking stare, "Just for a while until you get better. I _know_ how much you loved him but this is for your own good."

Shocked at what he was hearing Tristan looked at Arthur, "What exactly are you saying?"

"I know that the two of you were, _close_."

_Those children._

_Those two children who had been taken from their secluded campsite by a group of Roman soldiers._

_It was a horrible sound; the sound of the smaller one crying, yet attempting to be brave and the other trying to desperately quiet and assure that all would be well. The younger one attempted to shield the older one from the reach of the soldiers even thought this visit had been anticipated just not in this harsh way. As the older one was pulled from the younger one's grasp by the now less than patient soldier he whispered something to the younger one and with a gentle yet firm prodding the smaller child fled._

Shaking off this horrible memory Tristan looked at Arthur as his last statement was _still_ hanging heavy in the air.

"I know but what are _you_ _saying_ Arthur." Tristan asked because he was not liking the implications of where these assumptions where going.

Fed up with Tristan's constant denial Arthur shrugged, "The two of you were lovers. Come on Tristan _everyone_ knew."

If Tristan hadn't thought he would lose the contents of his empty stomach he might have laughed or gotten offended at Arthur's false facts. But to some warped degree it did make sense now the way everyone had been tip-toeing around him more so as of late.

"Have you _seen_ Shayla? I mean _really_ _seen_ Shayla?" Tristan asked as he leaned slightly forward and placed his elbows on the desk.

"Yes of course she is a very beautiful woman." Arthur shrugged.

Tristan nodded, "Okay, just because I _don't_ flaunt my affairs like Lancelot-what else brought you to this conclusion?"

"The two of you and _only_ the two of you spoke the same _local_ dialect." Arthur said as if _that_ was concrete proof of something.

"We are _both_ Rhoxolani's why _wouldn't_ we? But that would mean that Bors and Dagonet would be up for discussion since they have a different home tongue as well." Tristan snapped giving Arthur the _most_ uncomfortable stare like always.

"He doted on you and you allowed him to."

"Percivale _really_ knew me and that was part of how we coexisted."

It was actually good to see this as it was the first life Arthur had seen in Tristan in _days_.

Arthur looked at Tristan with dismay then and shrugged, "Well that is what everyone thought."

"Arthur, my brother and I kept our _true_ relationship a secret." Tristan said softly and quite surprised that Arthur had listened to and had given credence to such a rumor _without_ knowing all the facts.

"Of course he was a brother to _all_ of _us_." Arthur nodded.

Tristan stood slowly and began to speak once again, "_No_ Arthur, he was my _brother_; _my_ _baby brother_, no one knew and that was the point. There was _no_ way that my many enemies could _ever_ know who he _really_ was or _what_ he _meant_ to _me_."

Arthur sat back in shock and embarrassment, as Tristan turned and quietly left the room.

_Finis_…


End file.
